


Kept

by VagrantWriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asphyxiation, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3677982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon thinks he's lucky when Ramsay offers to take him in after a run-in with the law.</p><p>At first, everything is great...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Do you trust me?”

Theon took a deep breath. “Yes?” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but he wasn’t so sure about this.

He would have preferred going to an actual parlor, but Ramsay said he couldn’t leave the apartment. He would have preferred an accredited artist do this, but Ramsay said they couldn’t have people over. Not even the friend he’d borrowed the equipment from, who had actually _given_ tattoos before, because, in Ramsay’s words, “You’re so pretty, he’d just want to rape you.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment?

Truthfully, nothing about this felt right: laid out on his stomach in the dining room, Ramsay on his back, running a bare hand over the skin he intended to mark. Tattooists were supposed to wear gloves, Theon was sure. The tattoo gun made a horrible whirring sound, like a fan with a broken propeller. Spread out as he was, nose pressed against the cold tile of the floor, he couldn’t see what the needle looked like, but he could hear it clicking rapidly.

He swallowed down his uncertainty. “Yes,” he repeated. “Do it.”

Because this was what Ramsay wanted. He’d been the one to suggest it. At first Theon had been resistant, and then he’d agreed if he could choose the design, and then he’d ended up just agreeing to let Ramsay do whatever he wanted because Ramsay was already helping him hide out until this business with the police blew over. A little bit of trust wasn’t asking too much in return.

There was no “Are you sure?” or “Ready?” or anything like that. There was no warning at all, and then the needle was being jammed into his shoulder blade. Theon jerked at the sudden stinging, and Ramsay gripped his hair and pinned his head. “Don’t move. You’ll mess it up.”

Theon forced his body to relax as Ramsay began working the first line. It didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected, nothing like a flu shot or a blood draw, for instance. It was more grating than all-out painful, like someone was yanking incessantly on the hair of his head. The vibrations from the needle thrummed through his bones and made him grit his teeth and send wishful thoughts that Ramsay would be quick.

He could almost feel it taking shape, the way Ramsay made a sharp angle here or a curving line there or lifted the needle every so often to wipe the blood away. He began at the left shoulder blade and ran down the dip of his spine to the right, going at uneven speed. The gun made a whine of protest whenever he went too fast, and he’d pull back to a more reasonable pace, only to speed up again. He also wasn’t very good at keeping the pressure even, sometimes barely grazing the skin, other times digging deep enough it felt like he’d break through to the bone underneath. Theon winced and closed his eyes and willed Ramsay to just be done already.

It took maybe fifteen minutes in total, which was nothing, really. When Rodrik had gotten his tattoo—a kraken sinking a pirate’s ship, the length of it spreading from his neck down to his tailbone—he’d had to sit through multiple hours-long sessions. He’d also spent hundreds of dollars on it and had planned it for a full month in advance of the first session. Ramsay had suggested this rather spur-of-the-moment thing last week.

Ramsay switched off the gun, and blessed silence fell. One last pass to wipe off the remaining blood, and then he was helping Theon up to his feet. The pads of his fingertips were stained black with ink, probably one of the reasons real artists wore gloves. He didn’t seem to mind though, and it likely wouldn’t be permanent since he hadn’t had the color forced under the top layers of his skin with a gun at 50 times a second.

“Come to the mirror,” he said, grabbing Theon’s hands and leading him. “You’ve got to see it.” He was like an excited child waking his parents up on Christmas Day. “First, close your eyes.”

Even though Theon did, Ramsay still put his hands over his eyes as he led him to the sink and turned him around so his back was to the mirror. Theon felt something being pushed into his hands, and he grasped the smooth handle of a hand mirror. Still with his eyes closed, he waited as Ramsay aimed the smaller mirror for the best affect so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck to see his new ink. He could hear Ramsay breathing heavily as he worked to get it just right.

Finally, he said, “There. Open your eyes.”

Theon did.

Theon had seen his fair share of tattoos, both good and bad. This was a bad one. The lines were all blown and uneven, both in width and straightness. Ramsay had obviously gone for some form of fancy script but had failed miserably. It was still legible. God, was it still legible. In big, black letters, so dark against the pallor of his skin that they drew the eye straight to them, were letters spelling out the word “Reek.”

Theon looked away, but the only place his eyes could go were to Ramsay’s eager face.

Ramsay pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to show off his own tattoo, the one on his bicep. Clearly Ramsay had tried to imitate the lettering, and from the proud expression on his face, he thought he’d done just an impeccable job of it.

“See?” he said. “Now we match.”


	2. It Started Out Great

It started out great. Well, as great as something so irrevocably fucked up from the get-go _could_ start. Ramsay didn’t ask many questions; Theon had always admired that about him. Instead, he took one look at the soaking wet, sniveling teen on his doorstep and opened the gate to let him in out of the rain. He took Theon up to his apartment, handed him a towel, and told him to sit on the couch. Which Theon did. As he toweled off his hair, Ramsay rummaged around in the bedroom and returned with a fat joint.

“To calm your nerves,” he explained.

Theon agreed that his nerves could use some calming, so he took it with trembling hands, nearly dropping it. “Could you…?”

Ramsay pulled a lighter out of his pocket and leaned in. “Are you on anything right now?”

Theon shook his head took a small drag, waiting for it to properly light. It had been a good twelve hours since his last hit. The ecstasy might still be swimming in his system, but he couldn’t feel it. No, this was just pure jittery nerves.

“How long do you need to stay?”

Theon held the smoke in his lungs and thought. Ramsay knew what was up. Without asking any questions, he knew what was up. Maybe someone had passed the word along to him, or maybe he’d seen it on the news. It wasn’t important right now. In fact, it was better this way, because Theon wouldn’t have to explain what he needed and why. Ramsay already knew.

He released the smoke in one slow, even breath and felt his mind begin to get hazy just from changing his breathing pattern. “I don’t know. Until the heat dies down?”

Ramsay accepted that with a nod.

“Look, I don’t have much money, basically just what I left with. But I can…I can do chores and help out with your business. I can make myself useful, and I promise I won’t take up much space. I…I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Ramsay clicked his tongue. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, Theon.” There was something wrong with the way he said his name, a little too much emphasis on the _n_ , the aspiration of the _th_ a tad too harsh. Theon had always chalked it up to an accent, but for some reason, the way he said it tonight set his teeth on edge. “But let me ask, am I your first or your last recourse?”

Theon rolled the joint between his fingers. “First, actually.”

“Didn’t you have a girlfriend? Ros or Kyra or something like that?”

“I can’t go to her. They’ll look for me there. And at Asha’s. And Robb…” He trailed off. No use even pondering that.

“No,” Ramsay grinned knowingly, “I imagine you can’t go back there.”

Theon took another pull and held his breath until it felt like his lungs were pressed right up against his ribcage. That was what it felt like—like his body was far too tight, wound up. If he tried to breathe, he would cry.

Ramsay seemed to read all this and more on his face. “Like I said, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. You’re right, they probably won’t come looking for you here.” He stood, causing the springs of his chair to groan as his weight was lifted from them. “The sofa folds out, but it’s lumpy as fuck. I’ll try to find a more comfortable arrangement.”

“Thank you.” The marijuana was beginning to take hold, and Theon could feel himself drifting away. The insurmountable worries of the day dropped off one at a time, like ballast from a hot air balloon. The world faded into pastels as he sank into the cushions of the sofa. In all honesty, he felt comfortable enough like this. He could fall asleep right here.

But then Ramsay was kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Are you on the straight and narrow?”

Theon blinked. “I’m not…averse to that sort of thing.”

Ramsay’s look cut right through his answer: _You can’t fool me. I can see right through you, Theon Greyjoy. You’ve been lusting after your best friend for years. You’ve even thought of fucking his pretty half-brother a time or two. And that time in the showers at the public pool…_

Strong hands gripped his knees and gently pulled his legs apart. “We’ll work out the details in the morning. For right now, I want you to just relax. I’m going to take good care of you.”

 

***

 

At first it was great. The sex was great. Ramsay gave amazingly good head. Like, 10/10, would try again. He also had the best shit in town, and for the first few weeks, when things were great, he’d share with Theon whatever he hadn’t sold. They spent most of their time together getting high or fucking or both. There wasn’t much else to do since Theon couldn’t really leave the apartment.

“You made it to the front page,” Ramsay said the first morning, tossing a crisp newspaper across the breakfast bar. “Congratulations. There’s your fifteen minutes.”

Theon folded the paper out and was relieved to find his picture at least below the fold. A mugshot from a previous DUI, his name printed in fine letters, followed by the number to call for any information regarding his whereabouts.

“They think the boy is going to live, by the way,” Ramsay said, inspecting his nails.

Theon turned to the beginning of the story, guilty that he hadn’t checked earlier. _Brandon Stark remains in a coma after receiving two bullet shot wounds. Doctors are unsure how much permanent damage was done but have labeled his condition as stable for the time being._

“Oh God.” Theon ran a hand through his hair. It was messy and unkempt. He hadn’t showered since yesterday morning, when everything had been so normal. He’d showered and gotten dressed and gone downstairs to find a note from Robb asking to drive his little brother to his baseball practice, signed with that little smiley face Robb used whenever he was asking for a favor. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Bran was supposed to stay in the car like I told him to. Why didn’t he stay in the car?”

“I can tell you,” Ramsay said, “I never would have shot an unarmed eight-year-old, just saying. Maybe if you’d come to me for your recreational needs in the first place…” He pulled the paper out of Theon’s hands and began perusing, as if he hadn’t read every word twice before he’d handed it over. “Well, they caught the guy who actually shot. A rival of mine. I’ve half a mind to let you stay for free, just for helping me out the way you have.”

Theon groaned and buried his face in his hands. His cereal breakfast was forgotten, and he couldn’t have mustered up the appetite if he’d tried.

“Speaking of which, I’ve got to go run damage control.” Ramsay dropped the newspaper into the wastebasket and turned to go. “You’ll be fine here by yourself for today, yeah?”

Theon nodded. He suspected he’d probably sleep all day.

“Good. Just a few rules. If you’re going to be staying with me, don’t let yourself be seen. That means you don’t leave the apartment, not even to go down the hall. I have the nosiest fucking neighbors. Don’t answer the phone. Don’t answer the door. If it’s me, I’ll let myself in. Understood?”

Theon nodded, but his mind was far away.

Ramsay bounced on his feet and clapped his hands together. “Do you cook at all?”

Theon looked up from his self-pity, surprised by the abrupt change in topic. “A bit.”

“Think you could have dinner ready when I get back around five?”

“Uh…yeah. Sure.” He supposed it was the least he could do.

“Great. Really appreciate it. See you later.” And with that, he was gone.

Theon spent most of the morning napping on Ramsay’s bed, where he’d ended up sleeping last night, since nobody had bothered to make the sheets. He dreamt of Robb. He dreamt it had been Robb instead of Bran, sliding the door of Catelyn’s van open and stepping out, a question on his lips. “Theon? What are we doing here? You’re supposed to take me to my practice.” And then the gunshot, and it was Robb, not Bran, who was falling. No sound. No blood.

In this dream, he didn’t even bother driving the body to the hospital. He just ran. Left Robb there to die. He was so scared.

He woke up covered in sweat and decided he’d had enough sleep. He stripped off his clothes and threw them on the floor since Ramsay didn’t seem to own anything in the way of a hamper. He showered, letting the water run hot enough to turn his skin pink. The last shower he’d taken had been in the Starks’ house. Their guest bathroom was nicer than Ramsay’s master bath, a big walk-in shower with marble tiles that were cool against your feet. In the winter, the floors radiated heat, and Theon would take extra time at the sink just so the soles of his feet could absorb a little bit more of that warmth.

He’d never be able to go back there. Robb would kill him. He wondered if Catelyn was whispering, “I told you so,” into his ear. They’d both known about his drug habit, but only Robb had believed him when he said he’d gone clean.

He curled up on the shower floor and hung his forehead against his knees until the water started to run cold.

 

***

 

“This is really good.” Ramsay talked with his mouth full. “This is _really_ good.”

“Thanks.” No one had ever complimented his cooking before. “It’s just stew. On the Iron Islands, we make it with fish, but since you didn’t have any…” It had been a few years since he’d had to do any cooking—he’d eaten with the Starks, who always had room at their table—but it was a skill he’d kept at the back of his mind. A survival skill. If he thought too hard about it, he could still feel the sharp edge of his father’s ring as it smacked against his cheek. _What is this shit?_ To this day, he couldn’t pass the aisles of box-ready dinners without his facing stinging at the memory.

“I’ll buy fish next time,” Ramsay said with enthusiasm. He practically licked the bowl clean, and Theon glowed with a sort of pride he hadn’t felt before. “You look good in my clothes, by the way.”

Theon glanced down at his borrowed clothes. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind. I just…I left everything at the Starks’ and…” The clothes were easily two sizes too large in any case.

“I’ll get you some new ones,” Ramsay said. “Anything else you left at the Starks’?”

Basically everything that he owned, which, admittedly, wasn’t much: a laptop, a cellphone, a toothbrush, etc. He just shook his head. “Nothing important.”

Ramsay gave a short bark of laughter and leaned back in his chair. Like Theon told a very funny joke.

“Say, let’s you and me celebrate being roommates. I had a good day today, but I’ve got some left over. What do you say?”

They left the dirty dishes on the table and smoked Ramsay’s “leftovers” in the living room. Then they spent an hour or two watching TMZ, which had become infinitely interesting for some reason, but that somehow eventually dissolved into making out and more fucking.

And everything was great.


	3. Great Days and Not-So-Great Days

There were great days and then there were not-so-great days. Ramsay had bad days. A lot. It was expected, given his line of work, and Theon got so he could tell when Ramsay had had a bad day just from the way the key jiggled in the lock right before he came in. But that took a while.

The first week was nothing but good days. Ramsay came home smiling and full of questions about Theon’s day, Theon’s comfort, was he bored, did he need anything, etc. And for most of the first week, Theon wondered what their relationship was. Obviously they’d moved beyond customer and client. And they were more than acquaintances. Friends maybe, or fuck buddies? There were times when he’d be cleaning dishes in the sink and wonder if they were…a couple or something. He certainly felt like a housewife greeting her husband every evening. It wasn’t a thought he liked to ponder too much. It was emasculating.

He did like Ramsay’s compliments, though. On his food. His looks. The way he’d done his hair that morning. All the things he’d secretly hoped Robb would notice. When they fucked, Ramsay would tell him what parts of his body he found beautiful and then kiss him there. “Your face.” A kiss here. “Your stomach.” A kiss there. “Your thigh.” A trail of kisses that had Theon squirming and moaning like a wanton whore.

When Ramsay was in a good mood, Theon was in a good mood, riding higher than any drug could take him.

The first low hit halfway through the second week.

Ramsay slammed the door too loudly behind him, and he wasn’t smiling when Theon ran to greet him. He looked tired. He dropped his bag in the hallway, kicked off his shoes and left those lying in the hallway too, and stumbled into the living so disjointedly that at first Theon thought he was drunk. He ran up to support Ramsay and was rewarded with a quick swat to the side of his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Could you…not talk? I’ve got a headache.”

“Yeah…sure.”

He gave Ramsay a wide berth but followed tentatively at his heels. He wanted to ask if there was something he could do, but he’d promised not to talk. Instead, he watched as Ramsay sank heavily into his favorite armchair across from the television.

“Make yourself useful. Get me a beer.”

Theon hurried to comply. When he returned with a beer from the fridge, Ramsay had flipped the television on. Theon took a seat on the sofa and pretended to watch the weatherman give the week’s forecast, but instead he watched Ramsay out of the corner of his eye.

“Did something happen?”

Ramsay slammed his fist down on his armrest. “What part of shut the fuck up don’t you understand? Gods!”

Theon recoiled back into his seat and sat contemplating his clasped hands between his knees, feeling stupid and useless. They watched the news in silence, and Theon served dinner out in the living room in silence, and they ate their meals at their respective seats from TV trays in silence. Afterwards, Ramsay stomped off to the bedroom and Theon cleared the plates in silence.

It was still early, but Ramsay showed no sign of coming out of his room, so Theon drew the blinds and curled up on the couch with the flimsy blanket. Anything else might be too much noise for Ramsay, and sleep seemed like a decent choice, even though he wasn’t tired and had been looking forward to having someone to actually talk to all day. He had just settled into a semi-sleep when the bedroom door creaked open and light spilled out into the hallway.

“Gods it’s dark out here. What are you doing?”

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“What? No.” He seemed genuinely confused as he came to stand beside the sofa. “Oh, are you sulking because I yelled at you? I didn’t realize you were such a woman.”

He chuckled and Theon pulled the covers up over his head. He suddenly didn’t feel like talking at all.

“Come on now, don’t be like that.” Ramsay pulled the blanket away easily. “Look, I just get a bit irritable whenever I have to deal with my father. He’s always on my case about how I’m such an embarrassment, why don’t I get a real job, etcetera, etcetera.”

Slowly, Theon uncurled from his fetal position. He supposed he could understand that. He’d hated dealing with his father too.

“There, that’s it.” Ramsay clapped a hand on Theon’s shoulder. “Why don’t you come to bed? It’s still a bit early, but I’m sure we can find some way to fill the time.”

Theon nodded and vaguely noted that Ramsay had never said anything about being sorry. That was his way, though. He didn’t apologize. In fact, he rarely ever even admitted he’d done something wrong or made a mistake. But then again, Theon rarely admitted _he’d_ made mistakes either, something he’d really only begun to understand from watching Ramsay.

Theon owned his mistakes like they were decisions he’d consciously planned to end up that way. Like the time he’d crashed Robb’s car, when he’d had that horrible mugshot taken that would later end up on the front page of the newspaper. Robb had been absolutely (and rightfully) pissed when he’d been called down to the police station at three in the morning to bail out his friend, and Theon had just laughed like it was all a big misunderstanding.

Robb had eventually forgiven him. Robb forgave everything. But not this time. There was no coming back from _this_ mistake. _Why hadn’t Bran stayed in the damned car?_

The next time Ramsay came home pissed, he didn’t snap at Theon to be quiet and, in fact, accepted a back massage as a way of unwinding when it was offered. “You’re quite good at that,” he moaned, sprawled out on the floor, Theon on his back as he kneaded the bundled muscles in his shoulders. “You’ve got surprisingly strong fingers.”

“Why surprising?”

Ramsay shifted his shoulders in an awkward shrug and then groaned as Theon hit a particularly tight spot. “You have…girl hands.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do. Long. Slender. Pretty.”

“Pianist fingers,” Theon said. “That’s what my mother used to say.”

“I can’t imagine you playing piano.”

“I had the fingers for it, but not the talent.”

Ramsay’s chuckle warmed Theon on the inside. So did the way he relaxed under his hands, the way the muscles loosened and the skin became more pliant. His fingers brushed the tattoo on Ramsay’s bicep, a fancy script spelling out the word Reek. Theon had seen it many, many times but had never asked about it, assuming it was perhaps a band or some other obscure reference. It must have some significance if Ramsay had put it in permanent ink on his skin; he didn’t have any other tattoos.

“What is Reek?” he asked.

“He was my old business partner.”

“And his name was Reek?”

“A street name.”

“Odd street name.”

Ramsay gave another awkward shrug and folded his arms in front of him to cradle his head.

“Why your ‘old’ partner?”

“He’s dead now.”

“Oh.”

Ramsay was silent for a moment. “I miss him. I still think about him a lot.”

The way he said that made Theon wonder if there had been something between them, something besides a partnership.

“You remind me a lot of him.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. He worried about me all the time too.”

“I don’t…”

“No. I like it.” Ramsay slowly flipped over onto his back, turning a bit clumsily under Theon’s thighs. When they were face to face, he took Theon’s hands in his own and just sort of held them, staring up like Theon was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. No one had ever looked at him like that. Not his mother or his girlfriend or Robb. It made his heart beat so slow he felt lightheaded. “I like that you worry about me. And I like taking care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” Theon argued.

“You’ve always needed to be taken care of.” Ramsay swayed their hands together. “It’s just that you’ve been surrounded by idiots who didn’t know it. Who didn’t know how you’re supposed to be treated.”

“And how am I supposed to be treated?”

Ramsay kissed the soft, sensitive skin at Theon’s wrist and looked up at him through dark eyelashes. “Like a prince, of course.”

 

***

 

A month into their…whatever this was, and the good days still outnumbered the bad days three to one. And for every bad day where Ramsay would snap at him or throw something, there was a bad day Theon could salvage by offering a back rub or some sexual favor. Ramsay liked to get his frustration out through sex, and he was a rough lover when he was angry. He’d leave bruises and bite marks and then afterwards kiss the wounds he’d left and hold Theon so sweetly. But never apologize.

Even the rough sex was enjoyable, and the drugs were a nice distraction from time to time, but Theon was beginning to get antsy. He hadn’t set foot outside the apartment in a month, and there was only so much he could do with only a television and computer for company while Ramsay was away during the day.

“I saw something in the paper the other day,” he said at breakfast one morning. Ramsay was dressed in his “business” attire, while Theon was only dressed in one of Ramsay’s overly large shirts. Ramsay had bought him a wardrobe’s worth of nice clothes, but some days Theon didn’t even bother to get properly dressed. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see.

Ramsay looked up from fastening his watch.

“Bran woke up from his coma,” Theon continued. “It was in one of the back pages. They say he’s paralyzed from the waist down, where one of the bullets hit him in the spine. He’s expected to live, though.”

“Hmm,” was all Ramsay said.

“The police probably aren’t looking too seriously for me anymore. Anyway, they won’t charge me with accessory to murder if they do find me.”

“No, just reckless endangerment, possession of an illegal substance, and evading arrest.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t think they’re…actively looking for me. The article didn’t even mention me by name. I could…probably go outside. For a little bit.”

“You want to leave?”

Theon glanced up from his cold cereal. Ramsay had a dark look on his face.

“No. I was just thinking I could go to the store or walk to the park. Get out.”

Ramsay glowered and took a step forward. Theon instinctively flinched.

“I see. And what happens if someone recognizes you? What happens if the police _do_ catch you?”

“They…won’t.”

“You hesitated.” He took another step forward. His hand shot out and grabbed Theon’s chin, squeezing his face and forcing his eyes upwards. “You’d lead the police right back to me, wouldn’t you?”

“No, I wouldn’t do that. _If_ they caught me, I’d be quiet.”

“You could probably bargain them down from a higher sentence if you ratted out your dealer, huh?”

“If I was planning on doing that, I’d have done it already,” he said defensively and immediately regretted it. Ramsay’s grip became tighter, dull nails digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks.

“If you ever turn on me, you’ll regret it.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Ramsay released his face and turned his back, as if the matter had been settled. “I don’t want you leaving the apartment on your own. I’ll think about taking you out this weekend, to a movie or something.”

He’d _think_ about it? What could Theon say to that?

“Thank you.”

Ramsay never did take him out.


	4. Pivot Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where things start to get dark. 
> 
> Thank you to all the lovely commenters and kudos...ers.

Theon didn’t even see the pivot point coming, but he recognized it when it came. It was the first time Ramsay hit him.

Ramsay had had a bad day. One of those bad days set off by his father, which were the worst. He’d hardly said two words since he’d walked in the door, and Theon knew that was a sign to keep quiet himself. He served Ramsay first and was returning to the dining table with his own plate when Ramsay looked up from prodding at his meal. “What’s this shit?”

Theon froze halfway to the table. Maybe it was the way he’d said it, or maybe it was just that Ramsay had never referred to his cooking as “shit” before.

“It’s…pasta carbonara.”

“Where’s the meat?”

“Well…usually there’s bacon in it, but we didn’t have any, so…”

“So you feed me rabbit food?”

Theon set his plate down on the breakfast bar. “There’s no _meat_ in the fridge. Maybe if you’d let _me_ walk to the store…”

Ramsay muttered something darkly under his breath.

“What?”

“I’m not eating your Gods-damned hippie food.”

Theon stiffened at that. “I worked _hard_ on this meal.”

“Hard?” Ramsay scoffed. “All you do is sit around all day watching television, waiting for me to come home and blow you. You don’t know the meaning of working hard.” With one swing of his hand, he sent the plate to the floor. The plastic plate bounced unhurt off the tiles, but the spaghetti splattered red everywhere.

Theon saw red too. “I’m not cleaning that up.” He squared his shoulders. “Apologize.”

“What?” An incredulous bark of laughter.

“Apologize to me.”

“Oh, are you giving me orders now?”

“ _Apologize_ ,” Theon repeated. “Apologize for being such a bastard and maybe I’ll consider cooking for you again.”

Ramsay stood so quickly, his chair clattered to the floor behind him. “What did you call me?”

Theon took a step forward, so they were nearly chest to chest. “Bas-tard,” he said slowly, enunciating it. He knew this was one of Ramsay’s buttons. He’d once witnessed Ramsay go berserk when a client had called him a stingy bastard. So really, he should have known what was coming.

The backhand caught him across the face and sent him reeling. He could taste blood from where he’d cut his lip on a tooth. He regained his balance and stood to glare Ramsay down. As far as first hits went, he’d had worse. He spat the blood out, stepped back, and threw a punch right at the bastard’s jaw, knocking him sideways.

Words like “abuse” and “domestic violence” never even crossed his mind. They weren’t boyfriends, and neither of them was a woman. In Theon’s mind, this was rather like the many bar fights he’d been in—two men, more or less equally matched, solving a disagreement with fists.

But when Ramsay recovered himself, it became…something else. His fist landed squarely in Theon’s face, and for a split second, the entire world was condensed into the stinging sensation between his eyes. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, Ramsay on top of him, grabbing the collar of his shirt, bringing his fist in for another punch. Something in Theon’s face _crunched_. The back of his head bounced off the floor, again and again, until everything became red with the blood running from his nose and mouth. He lifted a hand to protect his face, but Ramsay swatted that away with ease and landed another blow, knuckles making _squelching_ sounds against battered flesh.

“Stop,” Theon croaked, raising his hands to yield. “Please stop.”

And Ramsay did. His lip curled and he let shirt go of the shirt, allowing Theon to collapse onto the ground. His knuckles were covered in red as he stood. “Don’t. You. _Ever_. Raise your hand to me again.” He stormed off.

Theon lay there for several minutes, breathing through his mouth, trying to get a feel for his face. Eventually, he was able to pull himself to his feet and make his way to the bathroom. The mirror showed a mess, a mass of red—blood and pasta sauce, it was difficult to tell one from the other. His nose felt broken, and applying any sort of pressure to stem the bleeding was absolute agony. He ended up washing his face off as best he could, which only served to reveal the dark circles developing around both eyes. He put the toilet seat down and sat with his neck craned back so the blood would drain into the back of his throat instead of down his face.

After what might have been twenty minutes or an hour, the bathroom door opened and Ramsay came in holding an ice bag. He helped Theon to strip off his blood-stained shirt and pressed the bag with excessive tenderness to the bridge of his nose. Theon sighed in relief.

“I don’t ever want to have to hit you again,” Ramsay said, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, wiping the crusted blood from Theon’s face with a wet washcloth. He was the picture of gentleness, the caring partner there to pick up the pieces. “Okay?”

Theon nodded.

“Good. It looks like the bleeding’s mostly stopped. You’ll probably be sore for a few days.”

Theon nodded again.

“Okay. Come to bed, pet. I’ll let you fuck me tonight, how does that sound?”

Theon nodded, and never once did it occur to him to run.

 

***

 

Ramsay only hit him a handful of times after that, and never hard enough to draw blood. Once for breaking a glass, once for coming home to find the television was on too loud. Little things like that. Little things Theon could forgive, because it never felt like Ramsay was _trying_ to hurt him. And anyway, when he’d been growing up, taking punches from your father or your older brothers was a fact of life, not something to get all worked up about. The years he’d spent with the Starks must have turned him soft.

Not everyone could have the perfect, happy, ideal family, he thought bitterly, because it was easier to be bitter than remorseful. He tried to drudge up every injustice the Starks had ever done to him, no matter how slight, just to take the edge off the fact that he would never see Robb again.

The last time he’d seen Robb had been the night before Bran’s accident. They’d stayed up late playing video games, and Robb had even agreed to share one of Theon’s joints, a rare misconduct for the Starks’ golden boy. They’d laughed and failed miserably at their game, later on sneaking down to the kitchen to raid the cupboards. Theon remembered the way Robb’s face had looked, illuminated in the soft glow of the television, his red curls messy and unkempt, his face relaxed, perfect white teeth shining as he grinned with an open mouth, embarrassed at having died another round.

He was beautiful. Would anyone blame Theon for loving him, for having harbored these feelings for nearly three years now? It was inevitable. Everyone liked Robb. What wasn’t to like? He’d wondered, more than once, how Robb would react if he just leaned in close and sort of…planted a kiss on his cheek. Or on his lips. Would he be mad? Not because Theon was a guy, no, but because Theon had a fairly steady girlfriend and what was he thinking cheating on her like that. Because Robb was that kind of guy, always thinking of others and how his actions would impact them. The exact opposite of Theon.

He wished he’d just driven Bran to his practice that day, like he’d been supposed to. But no, stupid Theon Fuck-Up had to drop by the warehouses on the bad end of town for a quick pick-me-up. _It’ll be fine. Five minutes, no more_. These thoughts still echoed in his head, loud and ugly. _Bran won’t even see anything if he stays in the car._

He was glad Bran was awake, and not just because it would lessen his charges should he ever be caught. But he didn’t think he’d ever be able to face Bran in court, look him in the eyes as he was wheeled in. He wouldn’t be able to face Robb, either, knowing that the other boy would never again grace him with that beautiful smile.

These were the dark thoughts that consumed Theon’s mind when he couldn’t stand another moment of watching television or surfing the internet on Ramsay’s computer. He’d sit on the couch and watch himself in the dark reflection of the TV’s glass. He was small and distorted, twisted, ugly. He felt ugly all the time, except when Ramsay was around. And a slap here or there was fine if it would just take away this feeling of ugliness for a few hours.

Theon had not left the apartment for a solid two months. He’d lost weight, despite his efforts to keep in shape by doing pushups in the living room. His muscles became weak and atrophied from lying on the sofa too much. His skin was pale from lack of sunlight, and he felt like a wilted houseplant. Ramsay, himself sickly pale, appeared a regular bronzed god compared to Theon these days. He didn’t understand how Ramsay could still look at him with the same reverence, still play the game where he would kiss Theon wherever he was beautiful.

It was hard to say _why_ things changed. Theon honestly couldn’t think of anything he’d started doing differently, anything he could have done that changed Ramsay so much. At first it was just the hitting, and that was to be expected. Ramsay had anger management issues. Theon had known that when he’d come to him for help. But then it was snide comments, little biting remarks about how Theon was useless and not pulling his weight enough, how it cost more to feed and clothe him than it was worth.

“You’ve been eating too much,” he’d say, for instance, patting the bulge of Theon’s stomach. “You’re getting fat.”

Theon wanted to argue that he wasn’t getting fat, he just didn’t have the muscle mass that normally kept his stomach back. Instead he simply agreed to cut down on his portions and occasionally skip meals. Ramsay had him stand on a scale once a week to prove he hadn’t put on any weight. If he put on so much as a fraction of a pound, Ramsay would put a lock on the fridge so Theon couldn’t eat while he was gone.

“You’re really letting yourself go,” he’d say, running his hand through Theon’s hair. “What happened to the boy who cared about his appearances, hmm?”

He stopped allowing Theon to wear his baggy shirts around the apartment. Every morning he’d pick out an outfit he wanted Theon to wear, carefully selected from the growing wardrobe Ramsay bought. He favored skinny jeans and tight pants and low-collared shirts that were a little to feminine for Theon’s taste, but since Ramsay was his only provider for clothing, he wore what was given to him. He also made sure to comb his hair and shave his face so that Ramsay would come home at night and compliment him for looking pretty.

“What’s all this in the browsing history?” Ramsay meticulously went through every website Theon had visited while he was gone. “You really are a pervert, aren’t you? Would you like me to do that to you?”

Ramsay liked getting ideas from porn, but only, it seemed, when it was _his_ idea to watch porn. He locked the computer so Theon couldn’t even get on during the day, and at night he watched like a hawk over Theon’s shoulder, making sure he wasn’t sending emails or watching unapproved porn. It made the days duller without even a computer to distract him, but he could never break past the password. And even if he did, Ramsay would know. Even if he deleted the browsing history, covered his tracks, Ramsay would know. He always knew.

“Know what would be _really_ cool? If you got a tattoo…”

 

***

The breaking point came halfway through the third month. Theon simply couldn’t stand it anymore. He put on his shoes for the first time in two and a half months, determined to take a walk around the block. _Nothing more_ , he told himself. _Just a quick walk. I’ve got my sunglasses and ball cap on and everything. No one will notice me._

He went for the door. But the handle wouldn’t budge.

He turned and twisted, tried pushing and pulling. Nothing happened. The locking mechanism clicked and would not give. Understanding struck.

Panicked, Theon clawed at the door. It was solid wood. The hinges were on the outside, as per building regulations—doors had to swing outwards in the event of an emergency—so he couldn’t very well unscrew them and get out that way. He tried pounding on the door, shouting for help before deciding that was a bad idea. He entertained the idea of calling for help and even had the phone from the kitchen in his hands before setting it back in its cradle and instead curling up on the sofa. Who would he call for help? A locksmith?

No, this was obviously a mistake. The lock must just be jammed or something. How could you even lock someone _in_? That was insane. This was a mistake. Ramsay would be home in a few hours, and he’d get the door working himself. But he’d be angry if Theon called the locksmith and brought unwanted attention to his apartment.

When Ramsay finally returned that night, the lock opened easily for him with the same click it always did. He seemed surprised to see Theon waiting for him in the hall.

“The door’s not broken, is it?”

“What?”

Theon balled his hands into fists. “Have you been locking me in?”

Ramsay frowned. “What’s brought this on?”

“Have. You. Been locking. Me. In?”

“Why? Have you been trying to get out?”

Without thinking, Theon lunged at him, trying to make a break for the open door. He didn’t know what his plan was, where he would go. He just wanted to be out of the apartment in that instant, prove to himself that life existed in the outside world.

Ramsay blocked his path and shoved him up against the wall. He closed the door with a backwards kick, and Theon heard the lock click. His heart plummeted. But then he couldn’t dwell on it, because Ramsay’s hands were around his throat, squeezing.

“You tried to leave me, didn’t you?”

Theon gasped. He couldn’t breathe.

“Didn’t you, you little whore?”

He clawed at Ramsay’s hands.

“You can’t leave.”

Didn’t Ramsay see he couldn’t breathe?

“Not ever.”

Theon felt his eyes roll up into his head and his feet drop out from underneath him, and then everything just faded away.

 

***

 

He woke up to a terrible pain in his throat. That was the main thing. Like someone had taken a rusty can opener to the inside of his esophagus. He choked and coughed his way back into consciousness, and as the blurriness faded into clarity, he realized he’d been moved to the bed. Gagging, he sat up, and that was when he felt the other pain. A dull ache from below.

He bolted upright and reached under the blankets. He was naked underneath, and his hand came away smeared with blood.

Ramsay was sitting on the end of the bed, buttoning his shirt.

“Did you…?” Theon’s voice came out raspy. It hurt to breathe, let alone speak. He pushed through. “Did you fuck me while I was passed out?”

Ramsay turned, looking startled that Theon was awake. “Yeah, so?”

“ _So_?”

“Yeah…so,” Ramsay repeated. “I fuck you all the time when you’ve passed out on something or other. You’ve never complained before.” He cocked his head in thought. “I guess I was a little rougher this time, but you made me very angry.”

The revelation hit Theon square in the chest. He jumped up from the bed, taking the sheets with him. For some reason, he didn’t want Ramsay seeing him naked. Even though he’d already…they’d already…

“You can’t do that!”

Ramsay smiled indulgently. “Do what?”

“You can’t…when I’m…that’s…” Theon gulped.

The word hung heavy between them. They both knew what it was, but he didn’t want to say it.

He remembered a time Ned Stark had found out he’d slept with a girl who’d been drinking. He’d grabbed Theon by the ear, shoved him into the car, and driven him to the girl’s house the next morning, where he’d waited from the curb as Theon had gone to apologize for “taking advantage of her.” Theon had returned beet-red, humiliated and embarrassed, most of all because Ned was angry at him and he didn’t understand why.

“The only reason I’m letting you go so easy is because you were drunk too,” Ned had explained. “If someone is unable to give consent and you have sex with them anyway…Theon, that’s…”

“That’s…rape,” he finished at last.

Ramsay’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, is that it? I _raped_ you? I’m a _rapist_? We’ve been fucking for months now. Was that rape too?”

“When I didn’t know about it.” Theon chewed on his lip. “I think I should go.”

He waited for Ramsay to react.

Ramsay’s shoulders stiffened. “You want to leave?”

Theon nodded.

“Where are you going to go?”

He didn’t know.

“Back to your daddy? He’s dead, and he wouldn’t take you back in any case. Your mommy’s still in the crazy house, last I heard. Sis? You think your sis will take you in? Or your pretty little girlfriend, after two and a half months of not hearing a word from you? The Starks, maybe? What makes you think any of them would help you out and not simply turn you over to the police?”

Theon stood with the sheets wrapped around him like a flimsy shield. Ramsay was right, of course. He was always right.

Ramsay stood and finished buttoning his shirt. “Do you really think you’ll find anyone else who will harbor your fugitive ass? Spend the money is takes to feed you, clothe you, keep you from smelling like old dog shit? If you think there is, feel free to tell me. I’ll let you go. You can walk right out that door, spit on all the hospitality I’ve shown you. You ungrateful little shit.”

Theon shrank away from him. Like a beaten dog. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean it. I won’t…of course I’ll stay.”

Ramsay grabbed his chin and tilted his head up. “Damned right you’ll stay. You’re just now beginning to realize that you have nothing without me. You _are_ nothing without me.” He released Theon’s chin and shoved him back onto the bed. “Now…get dressed and cleaned up. I’m starving already and you haven’t even started making dinner yet.”


	5. It Wasn't Really Rape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are definitely spiraling out of control now. I'm sure you can tell from the title of this chapter, but there is going to be some heavy victim blaming going on here.

It was fine. It wasn’t really rape. It was…sex under dubious circumstances. If it really had been rape, things would be different. He wouldn’t have settled back into his routine so quickly. And really, what was he so upset about anyway? That he couldn’t remember the sex they’d had? And if it had been rape, then he wouldn’t still be letting Ramsay have sex with him, would he?

No matter how many times Theon told this to himself, he could never shake off the feeling of utter violation. His throat was bruised for weeks afterwards, and it hurt to breathe and swallow. The blood vessels in his eyes had burst when Ramsay had strangled him, and his eyes were red for several days. Theon hated looking at himself in the mirror. He looked like some dead thing with his red eyes and the ring of black around his throat. Ramsay would run his fingers gently over the bruises and kiss them, and Theon told himself it was because he regretted his actions. The alternative was that Ramsay thought it made him beautiful.

And despite the sense of violation, it wasn’t like Ramsay had held him down and forced him. In fact, the days afterwards, it had been Theon who suggested sex again—a sort of goodwill gesture. And Ramsay was very gentle and sweet, almost like it had been at the beginning. He insisted Theon be on top and even stopped once when Theon mentioned they were going too fast. It was an apology, or as close as he would ever get from this man.

So, really, nothing had changed except that now Theon knew he couldn’t leave the apartment even if he wanted to. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Sure, he hated the endless boredom of lying around the apartment all day, moving from room to room like a ghost, but he honestly didn’t see any better choice.

Once, in a moment of weakness, he dialed Kyra’s number while Ramsay was away. She answered and he found his knees buckling at the sound of her voice. It was the only human voice he’d heard that didn’t come from Ramsay or the television in months.

“Kyra…” he began.

“Who is this?”

“It’s…”

“Oh my Gods, is this Theon?” He could hear the disgust in her voice. “You’ve got some nerve calling here after what you did to that Stark boy. You know he’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, right? The police came here looking for you a few months ago.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing. I didn’t know where you’d gone. Nobody did.” She paused. “Where are you now?”

He panicked and hung up the phone, and all thoughts of trying to contact anyone on the outside dissipated.

Really, he was lucky to have found Ramsay. He was lucky someone had agreed to take in such a fucked-up mess of a person, and if that someone was also a fucked-up mess of a person, well, that was just to be expected, wasn’t it? Theon was finally dealing with people on his own level. Robb was too good for him, had always been too good for him. And look how that turned out.

It was just like being back at home. His real home, where he’d been living when he’d first met Robb Stark. Except now the blows weren’t as bad and they had some semblance of predictability behind them. Ramsay only struck him when he’d messed up or done something stupid or said something stupid or Ramsay felt like it. But the next day he would be back with compliments and soft caresses, telling Theon how beautiful he was, how much he loved his cooking, how he couldn’t understand why nobody had appreciated him before.

The hammer had already fallen, but Theon simply refused to acknowledge it. By the time he realized this, it was too late. It had been too late for some time.

It happened during dinner one otherwise normal evening. Ramsay wasn’t in a bad mood, or didn’t seem to be, at least. They made small talk and quiet conversation and it was comfortable between them.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” Ramsay said appreciatively, stuffing another forkful of Theon’s cooking into his mouth.

“Thank you.” Compliments were rarer these days, but they still warmed him.

“There’s just one thing I don’t get.” Ramsay set his fork aside and reached for his napkin. He dabbed a bit of sauce off his chin contemplatively. “What makes you think I don’t have access to the calls that go in and out of this apartment?”

The topic changed so quickly, it took Theon a moment to respond. And even then, all he could do was look up in shock.

“Who did you call the other day?”

Theon searched desperately for his voice. “N-no one.”

“Really? Because I found an unfamiliar number in the call history.” Ramsay reached for the phone on the wall. “If I hit the redial button, I wonder who will pick up.”

“It was no one, honest. I just…it was Kyra, okay? My girlfriend.”

“ _Ex_ -girlfriend,” Ramsay corrected.

“Ex-girlfriend,” Theon agreed.

“Why would you call that bitch?”

Theon stared down at his empty plate. It was one of those days where he wasn’t allowed to eat.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Really? Are you sure you weren’t trying to get away from me?”

“What?” Theon’s head shot up. “No. Never.”

“Liar.” Ramsay stood and lumbered around the table.

Theon jumped up and pressed himself flat against the wall. There was intent in the way Ramsay approached him, but there was nowhere to run. “Please,” he begged. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to run. I just…you leave me alone for so long and I…I get lonely…”

“Lonely?” Ramsay repeated mockingly. “So you call your whore girlfriend because I’m not enough for you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You think I can’t see straight through you?” Despite Theon’s best efforts, Ramsay reached him and grabbed hold of his wrist, wrenching violently. “You think there’s not a single thought in your empty head I can’t read?” He yanked Theon off his feet and tossed him to the floor.

Theon landed in a heap and didn’t dare to get up.

Ramsay stomped off, and Theon could hear him rummaging around in the hall closet. He lay there, shivering, trying to muster up the will to defend himself. Instead, he edged backwards into the corner, wishing he could just disappear into the wall. He gave a small cry when Ramsay returned with a bolt cutter in his hand.

Ramsay dragged him out of the corner and pinned him down by straddling his chest. He hefted the bolt cutters in one hand and, grinning, said, “Why don’t you show me those pianist fingers?”

“No, please don’t.” Theon curled his hands into fists and tucked them into his armpits. “I…I won’t be able to make you dinner anymore.”

Ramsay paused to contemplate that. With a nod, he scooted backwards off of Theon’s body. For a second, Theon thought he was off the hook, but then Ramsay was grabbing hold of his foot and spreading his toes apart. “You’re getting off easy this time.” He maneuvered the bolt cutter into place around the big toe.

“No, no, please.” A string of those two repeated words over and over again fell from Theon’s mouth.

Ramsay grunted in annoyance and sat up for a moment, just long enough to get one of his socks off, wad it up, and jam it into Theon’s mouth to silence his screaming. “Don’t squirm or you’ll make it messier than it needs to be.”

The first cut hit bone with a horrible scraping sound, a sound so terrible it felt like someone was dragging fingernails over his eardrums. The second cut came with a horrible snapping-popping noise. It might very well have taken more tries to get the toe off, but Theon passed out after the third. When he woke up, the toe was gone.

 

***

 

He came to on the bed again. He still had his clothes on, at least, but that was a tiny thought drowned out by the throbbing pain of his foot. His leg was propped up on a mountain of pillows, pillows now soaked through with blood. Theon sat up and studied his foot with a detached sort of horror, watching the way the blood spurted from the wound with every beating of his heart. How much blood had he lost?

It appeared that not much time had passed, since the blood had not yet worked its way into the sheets or the mattress beneath.

Ramsay was nowhere to be seen, but he might still be in the apartment. Theon sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and tried to stand. Bad idea. Whether from loss of blood or shock, his legs wouldn’t support him and he collapsed to the ground. The carpet was rough and scratchy underneath him, and this at least jolted him out of his numbness. He propped up on his elbows and began crawling towards the bedroom door. The fibers in the carpet clawed at his foot, tearing the wound open. By the time he got to the door, he’d left a trail of blood behind him.

Using the doorknob for support, he pulled himself up into a facsimile of a standing position, the weight of his right leg on the heel of his foot, the toe lifted off the ground so that he left drips instead of streaks of blood in his wake. He braced himself against the wall and hobbled out into the living room.

Still no sign of Ramsay. Perhaps he’d gone out. If that was the case, the front door would be locked.

Theon’s eyes landed on the kitchen phone. The apartment had seemed so small when he’d been confined here for three months, but now, the space from the bedroom to the kitchen gaped like an impassable abyss. There would be nothing to support himself with, and if Ramsay returned and saw him making an attempt for the phone…

He shook that off. There was nothing for it. The space wasn’t that daunting. And all he had to do was lift the receiver and dial emergency services. He could do that. It would only take a minute, tops. With one last furtive glance towards the door, he began across the living room.

His foot was in unbearable agony, and he quickly found that even walking on his heel was too much. He managed to get halfway across the room by hopping on his one good leg, but then he lost balance and fell again. In the end, he made a rather pathetic spectacle of himself, getting onto his hands and knees and crawling the rest of the way, reaching up the wall for the phone like a drowning man grabs for a lifeline.

Then the phone was in his hands. He fumbled it, dropped it, then picked it up and dialed with shaky fingers. He lifted it to his ear. The dead tone rang back. The line had been cut.

Sobbing, he dropped the phone. There were other options. He could try the front door. Even if it was locked, he could bang on the walls, scream, make enough noise that the neighbors would come running. At the other end of the apartment was the window. He could jimmy that open and call down to the street below for help. Or, worst case scenario, he could jump. Ramsay lived on the third floor; the fall might not kill him.

He had just begun to crawl towards the window when the lock to the front door clicked and Ramsay strode in carrying two large grocery bags. Theon froze. He’d dragged a trail of blood from the bedroom straight to the phone.

Ramsay sighed and dropped his bags. “I can’t leave you for five minutes to go get the supplies to patch you up?” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Whatever am I going to do with you, Reek?”

“Reek?” Theon croaked.

“That’s your name, right? The name you put on your skin.”

Theon dropped to the floor and began sobbing at the hopelessness of it.

“You just stay there. I’ll be right back.” Ramsay hefted the bags again and walked right past him. The light in the bathroom switched on, followed shortly by the sound of running water. It ran for a long time. Then a loud cracking, banging, splashing.

Theon wanted to melt into the floor. He wanted to fling himself from the window and hoped the fall _would_ kill him.

Ramsay returned and lifted an unresisting Theon into his arms. “You’ve made a mess.”

“Sorry.”

He was carried to the bathroom, where he saw what Ramsay had been preparing. He wondered how many bags of ice Ramsay had had to buy to fill the tub that full. When Ramsay lowered him into the water, it was almost more painful than the bolt cutters. It was like a thousand tiny little needles digging into every inch of his skin, and he yelped and fought to get out.

“Calm down,” Ramsay said sternly. “You need to keep your foot on ice.” He grabbed Theon’s wrist and held it against the side of the tub. His other hand disappeared into his pocket. A click, and then something cold and metal around his wrist. Ramsay finished chaining the handcuff the bathtub’s rail support then stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You just relax while I clean up your mess.”

And that was it. There wasn’t anything else to argue about. He walked out, turned off the light, and closed the door behind him.

Everything was dark. And cold. And heavy. The water soaked through his clothes quickly, his t-shirt and jeans. It did feel good on his toe, though, so he tried to focus on that. The handcuffs didn’t give much slack, but he leaned back as far as he could, until his back came to rest against the sloping side of the tub. This bathtub wasn’t big enough for someone of Theon’s size, let alone Ramsay’s, and he had to pull his knees up to stretch out. Lying like that, with the sound of water sloshing against the sides and the ice cubes clinking against each other, he settled into a steady rhythm of mind over matter. _Focus on your foot. Focus on the sounds. Focus on anything but the cold._

With this mantra in his mind, he drifted off to sleep.

 

***

 

He woke up back in the bed, bundled in sheets and layers of blankets. His skin prickled, and when he pulled one of his arms free from the swaddling, his flesh had a pinkish-purple hue. The beds of his fingernails were blue. He was naked again, but his body was too numb for him to judge whether Ramsay had done anything to him.

He blinked blearily and tried to sit up, but a hand clamped on his shoulder and pushed him back into the pillows. “Hush now. You’re suffering hypothermia.” Ramsay’s voice was gentle. “Here, drink this.” Something cold and solid was pressed against his lips. A glass. Too tired to argue, Theon sipped. It appeared to be just water. “There you go. Easy. Small sips.”

After a few moments, Ramsay set the half-empty glass on the nightstand and sat down on the bed, running his large hand up and down Theon’s blanketed form, as if trying to rub some warmth back into him. If Theon closed his eyes, it was almost like this wasn’t the same man who’d cut his toe off just a few hours ago.

“You gave me a bit of a scare.”

_You shouldn’t have left me in the tub._ Theon didn’t say anything.

“Good news. Your toe is looking better. The bleeding’s pretty much stopped, but you should stay off your feet until it heals.”

Theon nodded. There was no use arguing back.

An impossibly warm hand came up to card through his hair, and he leaned into the touch.

“Ah, my affectionate little Reek. You would never leave me, would you?”

Theon shook his head. It was the answer Ramsay wanted.

“I know, but you understand why I had to teach you a lesson, right?”

Theon nodded. Yes and no answers were all he could give. His throat felt completely clamped shut.

“Good. It’s a lesson I won’t have to teach you twice, right?”

That was a negative question, so Theon nuzzled into Ramsay’s hand to answer.

Ramsay chuckled. “Good.” He leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You get some sleep now. I’ll bring you dinner when you’re ready to eat.” He stood and left, and for a little while, it almost felt like it had before.


	6. He Thought About Escaping

He _thought_ about escaping all the time. He wanted to, but…

The first few days after the toe incident, Ramsay stayed home and took care of him. Theon was a child again, unable to clean or feed himself, relying on Ramsay to get him out of bed and take him to the bathroom even. Theon would cling to him when he was lifted, afraid of being dropped, though Ramsay never dropped him. The rumbling of Ramsay’s chest as he chuckled at this pathetic display was almost comforting.

When he went back to work, he left Theon chained to the footboard by the ankle, with only just enough give that he could stand and make it to the bucket by the side of the bed. Left alone for hours and hours, Theon had plenty of time to think about escape. At first he tried banging on the walls to get attention, but the bedroom was at the corner of the building; there wasn’t a neighbor on the other side to hear. He pulled on his cuff until his ankle bled and his toes—his remaining toes—went numb. He rummaged around in the nightstand for something he could use to pick the lock or else attack Ramsay, but there was only a plastic baggie of weed in the drawer.

When Ramsay came home in the evenings, he’d unlock the cuff and let Theon out into the apartment, but his eyes were always on him, waiting for the smallest slip-up. And again he was a child, his kindly guardian looking over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. Telling him, “No, Reek, don’t do that. Put that down. Just like that. Good boy. Why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap while we watch TV?”

He’d never realized how much he used his big toe to walk. Walking was not a thing he did anymore. He got around by limping, hobbling, or shuffling, but not by walking. Even just standing was difficult, and often painful. Ramsay had done his best to clean and close the wound, but the results of his care were less than satisfactory. Theon was honestly amazed it hadn’t gone gangrenous, surely not thanks to the copious amounts of Neosporin and antibiotics Ramsay forced on him on a daily basis for two solid weeks.

Ramsay didn’t touch him those first few days he was mending, except to stroke his hair or prop him up in bed so he could eat or help him to the bathroom. But after that, when he deemed Theon was strong enough for it, it was business as usual. And business as usual included fucking. Theon tried to fight back exactly once, which earned him a punch to the face that knocked two teeth loose. After that, he tried to beg and plead, hoping it was simply a misunderstanding. It wasn’t a misunderstanding, and Ramsay didn’t like hearing, “No.”

That was the worst thing. The sex. Theon still thought of it as sex, because if he started thinking of it as rape, he really was going to break down. Instead he tried to tell himself it was simply unsatisfying, sometimes painful, sex. That way he wasn’t so helpless. That way he wasn’t a victim.

In truth, he would have gladly turned himself over to the police if they would just get him out of here. He’d throw himself at Robb Stark’s feet and let him do whatever he wanted, because there was nothing that boy could think of that was worse than Ramsay. There were times Theon was sure he was going to die here. There were other times when he actually wanted to.

Days and weeks started bleeding together. He didn’t know how long he’d been here. It felt like an eternity. Like he’d always been here. Like everything that had come before had been a strange, surreal dream. When Ramsay wasn’t there, and all he had were his own thoughts to keep him occupied, he’d revisit the most pleasant parts of that dream. His mother tucking him into bed at night, before she’d gotten sick. Meeting Robb in sixth grade. Eating dinner with the Starks, their many children and dogs, feeling like a family.

He didn’t cry as often as he thought he would. Mostly he searched out the numbness and clung to it.

 

***

 

“You’re thinking again, Reek,” Ramsay said as he sat on the end of the bed and pulled his socks off—always the left one, then the right, in that order. “Why do you do that? You’re just going to hurt your heard.”

Theon—still hunched on the bed, his ankle raw and red from where it had been cuffed all day, his leg sore from being forced at an odd angle for hours on end—was looking out the window. He knew he should be paying attention to Ramsay, but he was thinking. Could he make it to the window? Pound on the glass until it broke and then scream for help? The apartment wasn’t on the busiest of streets, but there were bound to be some people walking around below. They’d notice if he made enough noise, and then they’d call the police.

He was thinking when his head was wrenched back, Ramsay’s fist in his hair. “You think you could break that window with your bare hands, Reek?”

Theon swallowed as he was forced to look up into Ramsay’s face.

“Don’t act so surprised. Of course I know what you’re thinking. I always know what you’re thinking.”

Ramsay stood, pulling Theon with him. He fell from the bed with a dull thud that ripped several clumps of hair free from Ramsay’s grasp. The carpet left burn marks on his stomach and back as he allowed Ramsay to drag him to the window. He kicked out once or twice, but that was purely instinct, and for his troubles, Ramsay delivered a brutal kick to his stomach. He doubled over, feeling bile rise in his throat. He hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours; there was nothing to throw up.

Ramsay grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Normally he took his time undressing Theon, or made him do it himself. He said he liked the idea of unwrapping his presents again and again. But today, he yanked the jeans down so roughly that the button nearly popped off. If Theon’s hips weren’t so skinny, he would surely have torn the pants.

“Step out,” Ramsay demanded, and pulled the jeans away before Theon could properly lift his feet. “Arms up.” Theon complied and Ramsay pulled the shirt over his head, nearly tearing the fabric as he did so.

He stood bare and shivering and kept looking out the window. There were people down below, plenty of people. Couldn’t they see what was happening from down there?

Ramsay grabbed Theon’s shoulders, spun him around, and slammed him up against the window. It was freezing cold against his flesh, more intimate than the ice bath had ever been. Every square inch of his front was pressed flat, spread out for anyone to see. But nobody seemed to. They walked back and forth, some on their phones, some on their iPods, some looking at their watches or reading the schedule at the nearby bus stop. If anybody bothered to look up, they would see a naked man clawing at the glass as someone pushed into him from behind.

“Somebody!” he screamed. “Up here! Up here! Somebody help me!”

Nobody looked, and Ramsay just chuckled.

“Scream all you want.” He unzipped his fly. “I know you’ve tried when I’ve been away. But the thing you don’t understand is that no one even cares you’re here. Nobody’s _ever_ cared about you. Except for me.” He entered in one brutal thrust that had Theon screaming out.

He beat his fists against the glass. It wouldn’t give. Of course it wasn’t as easy as that. But why wouldn’t anyone just _look up_? Couldn’t they see? Couldn’t they see what was happening right in front of them?

Ramsay bucked his hips forward, pressing Theon flat against the glass. And again and again. “I love you, Reek.”


	7. Two Sets of Footsteps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Is that plot I see? What's that doing here?
> 
> To all my commenters: You're all terrible, terrible enablers. Thank you.

There were two sets of footsteps today. Ramsay’s, of course, which were heavy and loud, but another set, lighter, almost inaudible if Theon hadn’t trained his ear for every little change in sound. He heard Ramsay’s voice from out in the living room. “You stay here. I’ll go get him so you two can meet.” A pause. “Don’t say anything about his appearance.”

The bedroom door opened.

“Reek, we have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“A new roommate.” He rolled his eyes in aggravation. “It’s temporary, I promise. My father’s making me watch her for a while.” He came over to the side of the bed and unlocked the chain around Theon’s ankle. “Up you go.”

The girl standing in the living room, chewing nervously on her fingernails and looking like she’d rather not touch anything, was such a small thing. She made Theon look substantial in comparison, and he was fairly translucent these days. She had big brown eyes and long brown hair so sleek not a strand stood out of place. She was wearing a red polka-dot dress, the kind that would look at home on a 50s housewife in a wholesome neighborhood. She lifted her head and their eyes met.

He tried to tell her through their shared gaze. _Run. Get out of here while you can._

She looked back at him, and he could tell she knew. Well, she didn’t _know_ , but she had some idea.

“Reek, this is Jeyne. She’s a…distant cousin or some such.” Ramsay waved his hand as if it didn’t matter. “Anyway, she’s recently lost her family, so you and I are going to do our best to make her feel welcome into ours. Isn’t that right?”

Theon nodded and smiled, being sure to keep his lips closed so she wouldn’t see his missing teeth.

“Jeyne, this is Reek. My business partner.”

“It’s…a pleasure to meet you.” Her voice was so tiny, like a mouse’s.

She reminded him of a mouse. When he’d been very little, he’d lie awake at night listening to the mice scurry in the walls of his bedroom. His father had put out traps, sheets of sticky fly paper baited with a bit of cracker. Theon remembered coming upon a trapped mouse, the way its tiny legs worked furiously to free itself, to no avail. He remembered how shiny the animal’s eyes had been as he’d watched it struggle, how it had continued to look at him even when his father brought the hammer down to finish it off. It had watched him; he had distracted it in the last moments of its pathetic little life.

“Likewise,” he answered.

 

***

 

That night, Ramsay threw a pillow on the floor at the foot of the bed and chained Theon’s wrist to the bedpost. “Now, Reek, don’t look at me like that. It’s just for a few nights, until Jeyne becomes more comfortable with us.”

Theon used the pillow to cover his ears. He didn’t want to hear the noises, the cries and sniffling, because he recognized them. They were the same sounds he made, and what Ramsay was doing to Jeyne wasn’t sex. It wasn’t sex.

 

***

 

“He used to be really sweet,” Theon said. He couldn’t see Jeyne from where he was chained on the floor, which was good. He didn’t want to see what Ramsay had done to her. He didn’t want to see how red her face was from crying. “He used to…compliment me all the time. I’d never _been_ complimented much. I…”

Jeyne didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in this,” he finished lamely.

He didn’t know why Ramsay hadn’t worked his charm on her first. It wasn’t fair. If Ramsay had been a monster from the start with him like he had with her, he would have tried harder. He would have tried to escape when he had the strength.

“Please,” she whimpered. “If there’s a way to escape…you have to tell me.”

“There isn’t.”

“Even with two of us now?”

Theon thought about it. “I doubt it.”

“You don’t even want to try?”

“I _have_ tried!” he snapped.

She didn’t say anything in answer. A moment later, he heard her sobbing softly to herself.

He leaned miserably against the bedframe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Though she was right to be frightened. “Is it true what he said, that you lost your family?”

She sniffled. “Everyone. My mother, my father, my sisters. They were in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry.” It sounded as empty as it was.

“How could they do that to me? How could they leave me all alone…with him?” Her voice was dripping with revulsion.

“Is he really your cousin?”

“I don’t know. I’d never met him before. I don’t have any aunts or uncles that I know of. I was living with a foster father for a few months, but he…he was really creepy. Like, he would watch me sleep and he was always saying weird things about how pretty I was. And then one my friends said he’d tried to hit on her and she was afraid he’d try something with me. So I…ran away.”

Poor girl might have been better off with the creep.

He didn’t say it, but she seemed to understand, because she got defensive. “I remembered at the funeral, a man took me aside and said that I was close enough to being emancipated if I wanted. He said he was a close personal friend of my father’s and that he’d take care of me until I could file the paperwork. He gave me his phone number, but I just kind of wrote it off. But after I ran away…”

“You’d never met him before?”

“My father had never mentioned him, but his business card said he worked at the same company my father did. And when I called him, he said he’d help manage my finances when I turned sixteen.”

“When is that?”

“Next month. Then all the money my father left me will be freed up for my use. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I…I agreed to go with him. And then he told me I was going home with _him_.”

A picture was beginning to come together the more she talked. “How much money did your father leave you?”

“Well…since my sisters are dead…everything. I mean, we weren’t millionaires or anything, but Father was a successful businessman. He worked for Stark Industries all his life.” Another sniffle. “I miss him so much.”

Theon wondered what it was like to have a family you missed. And then he realized that, even though they had never been family, he missed the Starks. They surely didn’t miss him, but it was still something.

He wanted to say something to comfort the girl, but he’d realized something the minute she’d mentioned money. Ramsay had said this was temporary. He had never attempted to seduce Jeyne with his charm because he had no intention of keeping her around. He didn’t know how Ramsay planned to pull her inheritance out from under her, but he was sure of one thing.

The minute Jeyne turned sixteen, Ramsay would have no further need of her.

 

***

 

They ate dinner together, the three of them. Theon still cooked. Tonight, as he stood boiling pasta over the stove, he looked into the pot, then to Ramsay sitting out in the living room with Jeyne on his lap, and he thought. Could he do it? Could he cross the living room and throw the scalding water in Ramsay’s face before the other even knew what was happening? Could he do it without hurting Jeyne? Would such a thing kill Ramsay or just disarm him for a while or merely piss him off more?

He stood there, watching the bubbles roil across the surface, and added the pasta. When he served dinner, he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Jeyne. _I can’t do it_ , he wanted to say, as if she knew what he was thinking. _It’s not worth it. You don’t understand that yet, but it’s not worth it._

“Jeyne, isn’t Reek an excellent cook?”

Jeyne toyed with her fork. “Yes.”

“Can you cook?”

“No,” she muttered quietly into her plate.

“Really? Not at all?”

She shook her head. Her hair fell limply about her face and brushed the food in front of her.

“That’s a shame. Reek’s already a better wife than you’ll be.”

She looked up slowly.

Theon ate and pretended not to hear. Ramsay allowed him to eat so little these days.

“We’ll have an easy anniversary to remember.” Ramsay leaned an elbow on the table. “It’s the same as your birthday. A quick engagement…and an even shorter marriage. My father will bind us in holy matrimony…or civil unity, whatever. And our witness… Don’t look at me like that, Reek.”

Theon realized he’d been sitting with his mouth open and quickly clamped it shut.

Ramsay jabbed a fork in his direction. “Look, it’s not my idea, but my father thinks it’s high time I settled down.” He sat back in his seat with a sour look on his face, and Theon didn’t doubt his father actually had put him up to this. “Find a nice girl,” he muttered, poking at his food. “A nice, _rich_ girl would be preferable. Told him I already had everything I needed. Why can’t he ever just be _happy_ for me?”

“Please.” Jeyne clasped her hands beseechingly on the table. “Please, just let me go. You don’t want me. Just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone about any of this.” She swallowed and cast her eyes over at Theon. “Let us both go and we promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Ramsay stood and Theon recoiled. He knew that look of intent.

Jeyne didn’t. That was the only explanation for why she continued to talk. “Please, please. You’re not a bad man, I know that. Your father made you do this, all of this. Please, just let us go. We—”

A backhand to the face sent her sprawling from her chair. Ramsay knelt down, grabbed her hair, and yanked her head back. “You don’t know me, little girl. You don’t know the first thing about me. Or Reek. So allow me to educate you. Reek and I are very happy together. We _were_ very happy together until you came waltzing into our lives.”

He smashed her face into the floor and she cried out.

Theon sat frozen in his chair.

“You’re right. I don’t want you. But I have you. And soon we’ll be man and wife, and then we’ll share everything between us. Until death do we part. And I take my vows _very_ seriously.”

He slammed her head once more, then stood. As an afterthought, he kicked her in the stomach. The noise she made was that of a gutted animal. As he walked away, she curled in on herself, weeping.

“Clean up this mess, Reek,” Ramsay said. “You’re done with dinner. The both of you.”

Theon nodded and began clearing the plates. Half his food was still there, calling to him. He could use this time to sneak a few bites while Ramsay retreated to the bathroom. But one look at Jeyne huddled on the floor had him abandoning that idea.

“It’s okay,” he lied, bending down to help her up.

She didn’t want to get up.

“If you’re still on the floor when he gets back, he’ll just be angrier.”

That got her to uncurl. She had a split lip and a bloody nose, and her face was red from crying.

“Shh,” he soothed. Ramsay would be in a foul mood when he returned, and her crying would only irritate him more. “Be quiet now. Go to the sink and wash your face off.”

She sniffled and wiped at her nose. “He’s going to kill me, isn’t he? Once we’re married.”

“No.” Theon took hold of her hands. “He isn’t going to kill you because you’re not getting married. I won’t let it happen. We’re going to get out of here. Both of us.”

“How? I thought you said it was useless.”

It was. Maybe he was just raising her hopes. But it wasn’t like they had anything else at the moment.

“Our chances of escaping are pretty slim,” he said, smoothing out her hair. “But there are two of us now, and that’s going to double our chances.”


	8. Their Chance Came

Their chance came.

The three of them were on the couch watching some show on Animal Planet. Ramsay was in a good mood, an arm slung over either of his pets. He was the only person Theon had ever met who laughed at these shows whenever something was shot at or mauled or horribly abused. Thinking back, that probably should have been a warning. Tonight was a marathon of animal detective shows, and the SPCA officers were taking yet another beaten, half-starved dog out of yet another redneck’s home. “Poor little guy,” the female office on the screen said as she patted the pit bull’s head. “He’s been locked in a kennel so long, he doesn’t even remember what grass feels like under his feet.”

Theon began to cry.

“Oh, Reek.” Ramsay pulled him tighter and let go of Jeyne. “It upsets you to see how awful people can be, doesn’t it?”

Theon nodded.

“Would you like a joint, Reek? Would that calm your nerves?”

Theon nodded again.

Ramsay stood and shuffled to the bedroom where he kept a baggie of pot in the nightstand drawer. Once he was gone, Jeyne shifted in her seat, but she was smart enough not to get up. Her eyes kept going to the door, but Theon just shook his head. It wasn’t worth trying for. She’d never get there before Ramsay got back, and it would be locked anyway. It might be the excuse he needed to get rid of her.

She whimpered when he returned and took his spot between them on the couch. Ramsay paid her no mind and finished rolling a joint. He licked the edge of the paper and sealed it and handed it to Theon, who took it with shaking hands.

And odd sense of déjà vu came over him. He remembered this. He’d been sitting here, dripping wet from the rain. Ramsay had invited him in with hardly any questions and offered him a joint to “calm his nerves.” And just like now, his hands had trembled, unable to even light his own cigarette. He looked up at Ramsay, who was ahead of him this time. He took the lighter out of his pocket, leaned in, and, cupping his hand around the small flame, lit the joint. Then he set the lighter on the coffee table and flung his arms over Theon and Jeyne, pulling them closer once more.

Theon looked at the lighter. Then at Jeyne. She looked back at him behind Ramsay’s back. Their eyes met. She saw too. She knew.

Theon took a deep breath and willed the marijuana to work faster. In truth, it was Jeyne’s understanding look that bolstered his courage more than the drug. He leaned heavily into Ramsay’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“My, you’re affectionate tonight.” Ramsay tickled under his chin like he was a cat. “What’s brought this on, pet?”

“I want you,” Theon breathed into his ear.

He felt Ramsay’s body shudder, and a sense of power came over him. He grabbed Ramsay’s hand, the one that had been on Jeyne’s shoulder, and set it squarely between his legs. He wasn’t hard, but he hoped Ramsay would be too eager to even notice.

“You little slut.” Ramsay was smiling as he and Theon fell back onto the sofa, pinning the smaller man under him. “You think I don’t know what this is all about?”

Theon’s heart beat like a hummingbird, and he swallowed to keep himself from hyperventilating. “You do?”

“There’s not a thought that goes on in that empty little head of yours I can’t see.” He ran his hand through Theon’s hair, the fingers pulling just enough to be a warning.

Theon clutched at the cushions under him, but there really wasn’t anywhere to go. He could only meet Ramsay’s gaze and try not to flinch. Flinching would be an admission of guilt, that this was nothing more than a distraction.

“You’re jealous.”

“What?”

“Don’t try to hide it.” Ramsay’s other hand began undoing the button of Theon’s jeans. “I know I haven’t been paying as much attention to you as I should ever since Jeyne came to join us, but you don’t need to worry. You’ll always be my favorite.” He jammed his hand down Theon’s pants, groping. “Besides, she won’t be with us much longer. I promise.”

Though it made him sick, Theon allowed Ramsay to bring him to finish. When he was done, he tucked Theon back into his pants, patted his thigh, and retreated to the bathroom. The quick running of water told that he was washing his hands.

Theon glanced over at Jeyne. She looked about as sick as he felt, but she gave him a nod in response to his silent question.

The lighter was no longer on the coffee table.

 

***

 

“Are you sure about this?” Theon held the lighter in his hand, studying it, turning it over and over. It was a cheap little thing, something you’d buy at a gas station when you were on a cigarette run. Funny that such a cheaply made thing would hold the key to their freedom—one way or another. “If this doesn’t work, we could both die.”

“Then it will work either way,” Jeyne said, quite seriously.

Theon nodded, though he was afraid. Terrified. Burning the death…he couldn’t imagine a more horrible way to go. Except, maybe, wasting away in this apartment. If Ramsay came home to two burned corpses, it might be worth it.

He flicked the lighter on. The tiny flame came to life. It would go out the moment he let it go, so he didn’t have much flexibility. There were limitations from the start. For one, they couldn’t start the fire while Ramsay was there—he’d put it out in an instant and punish the both of them. That meant they had to wait until he was gone, when they were both locked in the same room. The fire detector was out in the hallway, so they’d have to set the fire there, which would block the doorway and lessen their chances of being rescued. Of course, they could both be dead long before the fire department even showed up.

If they wanted to kill themselves, there were cleaner ways.

He looked to Jeyne one last time. He could hardly see her over the side of the mattress, but what he could see looked frightened. She was a child, really, young and scared and alone. But she also looked like she’d rather die a painful death than spend another day as this madman’s pet.

With a resolute nod, she handed him her pillow. He brought the flame to the corner, waiting until it caught fire, then tossed it across the room. It hit the door with just enough force to open it, and there is lay, wedged between the door and the jamb as it slowly smoldered.

For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed the pillow wouldn’t catch, but enough camping trips up North with the Starks had taught Theon a thing or two about fires. They just needed to breathe. If you gave it a moment…

The pillow erupted as the flames came into contact with the cheap cotton. It ate through the material quickly, and soon Jeyne was tossing the second pillow, then the sheets. The room filled with smoke, thin at first and acrid, smelling of chemicals. But when the carpet finally caught, the air became thick and black, and that was when the fire alarm went off. Theon had never heard anything so beautiful as that loud-as-fuck beeping. It might even make enough noise to bring the neighbors or the superintendent investigating.

Behind him on the bed, Jeyne gave a triumphant cheer. There wasn’t time for that yet.

He held his breath. The next thing was to hope that 1.) the sprinkler came on and 2.) it put the fire out. If not…

He heard it. The tiny click of the sprinkler system going off, just under the shrieking of the alarm. He couldn’t see the valve snap out, but he could see the spray of water misting down in the hallway. There was absolutely no water pressure, and the fire didn’t even seem to notice. It burned, unchecked. It might yet burn itself out, or grow so weak that the fire system could put it out, but more than likely, it would spread.

If he was going to die today, then he’d die. But if he could live, he’d live. He was sick of not being able to fight back. No more lying down.

“Help me flip the mattress,” he said.

Looking quizzical, Jeyne stood as best she could, handcuffed as she was to the headboard. She wasn’t very strong, but he certainly wasn’t any stronger. Nonetheless, working together, they managed to get the mattress and the box spring off the bed, leaving just the frame, which was still heavy but more manageable to move. They dragged the iron bedframe to the far wall, as far from the flames as they could get.

Once there, Theon tried the window. It wouldn’t open. He ran his hands along the upper sill and felt where Ramsay had nailed the window shut. Theon tested the glass. It was thick and solid. If Ramsay could fuck him up against this window without leaving a crack, he didn’t think he’d be able to break it with his bare hands or feet, but he had to try.

Ramsay had chained him by the wrist today, so Theon would have to use his foot. Bracing on the one with the missing toe, he kicked out. The window jostled in its frame but otherwise didn’t move.

“Is there something we can use to break it?” Jeyne asked. “Something heavy?” She looked around the room.

“If there was, I’d have used it to beat that bastard to death by now,” Theon said as sweat began to gather on his face. It was undeniably getting warm in here, and the smoke was getting thicker. He wanted to get the window open, if for no other reason than to be able to breathe again.

“Is that it then?” A tear rolled down her cheek. Despite her brave words, she didn’t want to die.

She was small for her age, with too-large eyes in a too-thin face. He thought again of the mouse, looking at him while its death came plummeting from the other direction. What should he say to her? Something comforting? Something profound? They might very well be his last words, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of anything.

A single bead of sweat trickled down his back. The fire was spreading.

He stopped momentarily, trying to gain his breath. He hadn’t had so much physical activity in weeks, and now his lungs were half-filled with smoke and any number of toxic gases. He wondered if he might pass out from lack of oxygen before the flames reached him. That would be a preferable death. Just like falling asleep. He’d never even feel the pain as he was burnt to a cinder.

“No, wait…” He took a half-step back from the window. “There is something heavy, but…I can’t lift it myself.”

She looked at him with red eyes, from the smoke or from crying, it was difficult to tell.

He pulled on his handcuffs, causing the wrought iron of the bedframe to clink as it jingled against the bars of the footboard. “If we could get it on its side, one of the posts should be able to break the glass.” He swallowed at what he was asking of her. It was one thing to drag a bed across a carpeted floor; it took a whole new level of strength to actually _lift_ that bed.

“I…can try.”

He could barely get a grasp on the bed—the handcuffs didn’t allow enough room to lift properly from the bottom, his hands were slick with sweat, his toe screamed in agony as he put his weight on it. Jeyne wasn’t faring any better. She grunted as she tried to lift her own side, but she was at an even greater disadvantage than him. She was able to get it up an inch or so off the ground before dropping it with a defeated, heart-wrenching sob.

“I can’t.”

“All we need to do is get it on its side,” he reminded her.

She nodded and looped her arms through the bars. Catching her method, he did the same on his end. They had barely any muscle mass to speak of, so bone would have to do. It became a matter of levers, pulling and pushing while the iron bit into their arms. Theon swore his arms would shatter before the glass did, but his body was harder than he gave it credit for.

Working together, they managed to get the thing on its side. Then it was a matter of backing it up and ramming it into the window hard enough to break glass. The fire was already on their heels, so they truly couldn’t back up more than a few inches. Theon gripped his end and looked to Jeyne as she gripped hers. She nodded, and together they pushed the frame over.

The sound of breaking glass was musical, as were the startled screams from below. Theon leaned out the window, heedless of the jagged glass cutting into his hands, arms, and stomach. The fresh air felt like the first hit of marijuana, making him lightheaded and giddy. He looked down and caught the eye of a woman staring up at him. She had a horrified look on her face, the kind of horror that comes from having no idea what’s happening.

“Help us!” he called down to her. “We’re in here! We’re alive!”


	9. The Not-End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, all good (fucked-up) things must come to an end...

Theon vowed to track down the firefighter who’d saved them and give that man a kiss. He hadn’t exactly been in his right mind at the time, watching in detached wonder as the man had come through the window, like some sort of angel, wielding a pair of bolt cutters—bolt cutters of all things—to break the chains of their handcuffs. In retrospect, he’d probably been lifted on a cherry picker, but as far as Theon was concerned, the man had descended from the heavens to lift the both of them out of there.

He couldn’t remember how they’d gotten out of the apartment to the street below, nor did he remember the trip to the hospital. He woke up with several IVs in his arm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in so little pain.

Later, a doctor came in and gave him a run-down of the injuries they were treating: blood loss, dehydration, malnutrition, broken teeth, lacerations—either courtesy of Ramsay or the broken window. Options were offered for further treatment, the most horrifying of which was “rectal reconstruction surgery” for all the "internal damage."

Theon nodded like this wasn’t all completely overwhelming. “Jeyne?”

“Recovering,” the doctor said. “Now, if you’re up for it, there are some people here who would like to ask you a few questions.”

Theon couldn’t bring himself to panic when two uniformed police officers entered, though his heart did lock up on instinct. He shifted uncomfortably in his hospital bed, feeling absurdly exposed in his hospital gown.

The woman officer took a seat by his bed. She was taller than her partner, who was, himself, a rather tall man. She also had a face like a mile of bad road. After spending months with only Ramsay, Theon thought he’d never seen a more lovely face in his life. When she gave him a sympathetic look, he couldn’t stop himself and began sobbing.

“It was my fault,” he said. “I was _supposed_ to take Bran to practice but I went to buy drugs instead. He was _supposed_ to stay in the car but he got out anyway and my dealer panicked and shot him. I was _supposed_ to stay with Ramsay just until everything died down but he…” He shook his head and cried into his hands.

“You have an outstanding warrant,” the man said, flipping through his notes, “but we can deal with that later. Right now, we’re here to ask you some questions about Ramsay Bolton.”

It was sick, telling them everything that had happened. Every time the man would stop his account and ask, “And you didn’t run?”, Theon had no answer for him. He _should_ have run. He should have run when Ramsay hit him. He should have tried to escape once he found out that Ramsay was locking him in. He should have insisted on leaving when he found out Ramsay was raping him.

“It started out great,” he said numbly. There was no way he could make them understand. “He took care of me. He cared about me. I thought things would go back to the way they were…when everything was great.”

 

***

 

Three hundred hours of community service and five years’ parole. That’s what he got for ruining a young boy’s life.

The Starks hated him. He could see it in their eyes at his sentencing, but it was Bran of all people who called for a less harsh sentence. He’d gotten up—well, wheeled up—before the judge after Theon had pled guilty. “Your Honor, Theon Greyjoy has made a lot of stupid decisions, but I think he’s paid enough for them. I’m sure he’d be much better served making amends to society than being locked up behind bars.”

Theon had cried.

Ramsay’s trial was another ordeal. He and Jeyne spent several days being questioned and cross-examined. The defense lawyers Ramsay’s father hired were hard on Jeyne, asking why she had gone with a strange man without question, but they were harder on Theon. “Why didn’t you leave at that point, Mr. Greyjoy?” He sat on the witness stand and muttered, “I don’t know,” every time, while Ramsay sat staring darkly at him from the defendant’s chair.

In the end, Ramsay got more years for dealing drugs than he did for holding two people prisoner. The total was twenty years, with the possibility of parole in fifteen. Ramsay smiled at Theon as the bailiff put him in handcuffs and led him away. Not a word passed between them, but Theon could read it all through his eyes. _I know you’ll be thinking about me each and every day_ , Reek. _I’ll be thinking about you too._

 

***

 

Asha offered to take him in, but he declined. Jeyne had already invited him to live with her in the house she’d bought with her father’s money. It was a tiny little thing, a fixer-upper, two-bedroom starter home on the outskirts of the suburbs. A good neighborhood. They busied themselves with painting, gardening, generally cleaning the little home up. It kept their minds busy. Besides, she didn’t mind when he woke up screaming, and he didn’t mind when she did. They would comfort each other back to sleep.

About a month after the trial, the doorbell rang for the first time. Theon went to answer it, checking the peephole first. None of their doors had locks—Jeyne had agreed, even if it left them more vulnerable to theft—so whoever was there could easily barge in if they wanted. He was startled to see blue eyes looking back at him.

He opened the door.

“Hey,” Robb said.

“Hey,” he said back.

They had not exchanged any words at his trial, but Theon had spotted Robb sitting the back during Ramsay’s trial. The last he’d seen of him, Robb had gotten up and stormed out of the courtroom in the middle of Theon’s testimony. He had not expected to ever see him again.

“Look, I…”

Robb held up his hand. “I’m not here to ball you out. Bran’s already forgiven you, so it’s not my place to hold a grudge on his account.” He took a deep breath. “I just…I wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

Robb Stark had always been too good for him.

“I…you know.” He shrugged. “One day at a time.”

Robb nodded.

“My counselor says I might be able to get a job soon.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Theon nodded.

“Uh…Jeyne seems nice.”

“Yeah, she’s a nice girl.”

“Her, uh, father used to work for your father.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

“Look, Theon, I—”

It was the way he moved, like he was going to grab him. Theon jerked back violently.

“Oh…Theon,” Robb sighed. His eyes were pitying. “I wish you’d come to me after what happened with Bran. I would’ve been mad. Furious even. But I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have _hurt_ you.”

“I know.”

“I hate seeing you like this.”

Theon felt tears prickling in his eyes and quickly wiped them away. “Are you still mad?”

A shorter silence this time.

“Yeah,” Robb admitted. “I am mad. Bran won’t say as much, but he’s mad too. But that doesn’t mean he…we…want to see you hurt. We don’t… _I_ don’t want revenge. I mostly just wish it had never happened. That’s all.”

“Me too,” Theon agreed.

“I came by to tell you that I wish you well.”

It was painful looking up into Robb’s eyes.

“I hope…” Robb had always been articulate, the class president, leader of the debate team. But today it seemed he could hardly find the words he wanted. Theon knew the feeling. “I hope you find a little happiness in your life.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what else Robb wanted to hear.

“And…and I want you to know…” Robb’s hands curled into fists, probably unconsciously, because he looked startled when Theon flinched away again. “I want you to know,” he said, now holding his hands up and open, calming, “that if that bastard gets out of prison one minute sooner than he’s supposed to, I want you to call me. I want you to call me, and I swear I’ll break his kneecaps so he won’t ever be able to walk again.” He seemed to rethink that wording, which was good because it only reminded Theon of what he’d done to Bran. “I’ll make him regret ever thinking of hurting you.”

“Thank you,” Theon said quickly. “I will.” He closed the door quickly, perhaps a bit rudely, but he didn’t want Robb to see him crying.

He sank to the floor and curled his knees against his chest. When he heard Robb’s footsteps retreat down the stairs, he buried his head in his knees and cried. That was how Jeyne found him when she came in from gardening. She knelt gently by his side but didn’t touch him. Nor did she speak, instead allowing him to decide when to lift his head and talk to her.

After a moment or two, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and uncurled himself. He looked up at Jeyne. She was kind and gentle and knew better than most what he had been through, but she hadn’t _been_ there. She didn’t know what it was like to have stayed willingly, praying through the beatings and the rapings that the person he trusted and cared for might reemerge. He didn’t know how she’d react if he told her he’d once thought he’d loved Ramsay.

She understood enough, though. She understood that it was something he didn’t want to talk about. She held out her hand and helped him to his feet. “Let’s order out tonight,” she said. “Something tells me you don’t feel like cooking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endings are so hard, guys. I know a lot of people wanted Ramsay to catch him again, but some resolution was necessary. (Although, never discount that Ramsay could break out of prison.) 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented. This fic has probably earned me a place in special hell, so I'll see all of you there. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day. Concrit always welcome.


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